


after the rain

by diwata



Series: i follow rivers [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diwata/pseuds/diwata
Summary: After the rain, Sakura teaches Sasuke how to heal.There are no cherry blossom trees in Suna, or in most other parts of the world, Sasuke learns on his long journey of redemption. So he savors each time he watches her long hair fall from her shoulders, his own personal hanami.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Series: i follow rivers [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596583
Comments: 28
Kudos: 113





	after the rain

**Author's Note:**

> Teen & Up for one very vague paragraph. Also, very heavy on the romance because why not. This is set almost directly after legends.

After the rain, Sakura teaches Sasuke how to heal. 

On most days of their travels, it is silent. But, Sasuke supposes, watching the emblem on Sakura’s back, there are silences made just for them. The landscapes of Fire and Wind bleed into each other, as do the days; they forget themselves often, and regularly.

It happens when they come across an injured sparrow on the side of the road, limping and dragging its broken wings through the dirt. Sakura kneels down, scooping the bird into her calloused palm. “I hope you’re paying attention, by the way,” she tells him, hand glowing blue. Following suit, Sasuke summons chakra of his own. “No,” Sakura says, and his chakra flickers out, “you don’t have to help. You just need to pay attention.”

Sasuke peers over her shoulder. The sparrow peers back at him, opening its beak with an indignant chirp. “I can help.”

“I want to show you so you can heal yourself,” the medic explains. Watching closely, he can see her chakra meticulously being channeled in and out of the wound. “Some parable about teaching a man how to fish.”

He scoffs. “Isn’t you healing the bird the equivalent of giving me the fish?”

“Only if you don’t pay attention,” she retorts.

It takes some time and practice, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be _good_ at it, but he’s just decent enough to tend to small wounds. Still, Sasuke wants to be better, so he shadows Sakura as she trains new medics in Suna as per the Hokage’s request. “You can’t save people,” the pink-haired kunoichi advises the genin. Fixing the posture of a young girl whose hair hangs over her face, Sakura clears her throat. “You can only treat them.” 

Exasperated sighs echo throughout the small room. As the students leave with fatigue written across their faces, Sakura hands them each a soldier pill and grins brightly. Leaning on the doorway, Sasuke is the last out. “So, what did you think?” she asks, pressing the pill into the middle of his palm.

The Uchiha frowns. “I can heal a sunburn, perhaps,” he estimates, disappointment heavy in his tone.

“That’s good, Sasuke-kun!” she exclaims. She wrinkles her nose, gesturing to the reddened skin with her top lip.

“I’m not healing that.” Sasuke towers over his pouting companion, ducking down to press a swift kiss to her irritated nose bridge.

Sakura’s giggle reminds him of a spring breeze. “All better,” she says, pointing to her nose again. With a flare of chakra, the burn is gone.

* * *

Suna’s bazaar is crowded and busy. Where the vendors in Konoha are polite and familial, the vendors in Suna argue and haggle over the prices of things and tell passersby stories about their grandparents and family heirlooms. Sakura debates the merit of alternative medicine while the owner serves them lemon tea. “There’s no scientific data,” the medic-nin disagrees vehemently with the elderly woman, who attempts to convince them that ginger is as effective a remedy for infections as penicillin. The elderly woman takes a long sip from her cup in response.

The shop is filled to the ceiling with antique furniture and colorful spices. In one cramped corner, tupperware is laid out on the floor. Most pieces are faded mosaics, decorated with the faded turquoise Suna is famed for; but one vase catches his attention. The ceramic is cracked through the bottom, spider webbing out and filled with gold, a technique that belonged to the old clans of Fire Country. Sasuke studies the gold intricately etched into cracked pottery wares arranged on the woven mat.

“Sasuke-kun, your tea is cold.” He smells Sakura before he sees her hold his drink in front of his face, recognizing her proximity by the fragrance of her hair. Noticing his stare, Sakura remarks, “It’s almost Sasuke-kun’s birthday. Do you want anything?” The ascetic shakes his head. “I’ll cook for you.”

Considering the option for a while, Sasuke speaks the thing that’s been dangling between them into existence. He suggests, “Red rice and sea bream.”

Picking up on his code, Sakura’s gaze flickers to him. “And toasted sesame seeds?”*

“Ah,” he nods, gently placing his hand on the small of her back, “and shrimp.”

Her eyes twinkle knowingly. “The market a little west of here has red azuki beans,” Sakura says, “and I’m sure Kazekage-sama can help us with the rest.”

Sakura doesn’t let Sasuke help her with groceries. Instead, she carries the bags in her arms with ease. He can smell the dried fish through the plastic bag; it reminds him of home. Out of the bags, so full of produce, rolls an apple. The healer’s scarred hand reaches around Sasuke’s ankle. He contemplates her long rosette hair, straight, and a rare sight. In the centimeters of her tresses, he sees the kilometers of their village stretched out during the spring. His fingers twitch the compulsion to brush the locks from Sakura’s face, with homesickness. 

There are no cherry blossom trees in Suna, or in most other parts of the world, Sasuke learns on his long journey of redemption. So the Uchiha savors each time he watches her long hair fall from her shoulders, his own personal hanami.

* * *

At their flat, they sit together and eat together. She toasts sesame seeds on the cramped stovetop in their kitchenette, sprinkling sea salt with precision. And he watches her, still. Hungry. Sakura smiles at him through mouthfuls of red rice. But the hunger he feels is for the pomegranate of her lips.

With only the moon as their witness, he smiles. Sasuke can only focus on the warmth of her breath on his shoulder. Where he kisses her next. Descends upon her with those lips. With the same hand that started it all. On the stretches of worn skin that cover her bones. With the moonlight through that same window. With the thunder in the distance. The deepest sigh of relief. Dipping into that well, where the rainwater pools. Scars bled into flesh. He traces them, so he knows her. He kisses her face, so he loves her. No man has ever loved her like this. Only him. Only him and the rays on the windowpane.

“Did you have trouble sleeping, those years you spent in Oto?” Sakura asks him as he floats between sleep and consciousness. 

“No--” Sasuke tucks her head into his neck and slides the thin covers over her shoulders-- “I dreamt.”

“There were many nights I’d lie awake,” Sakura mumbles, bringing the sheets up to her chin.*

“I dreamt,” he repeats, drifting back to slumber easily in wake of her warmth. Sasuke falls asleep with his hand pressed to her wrist, her steady pulse guiding him through the night. And wasn’t it sacred, the tenderness they tasted from each other’s hands? And were they not lovely, then; were they not lovely as moonlight, and hanami, and flame? 

* * *

In the morning, Sakura shrugs on her white coat while he shaves the stubble growing on his chin. Their walk to the office is short, but the sun beats down on their faces unforgivingly. “Of course,” the Kazekage says to them as they enter, his face not betraying even a margin of surprise. They speak briefly before he hands over the paperwork.

Sasuke goes first, his broad strokes filling the appropriate boxes, pen bleeding through the parchment in places he had applied too much pressure. Sakura’s hand is much lighter. Glancing over at the kunoichi, Sasuke remembers something vaguely about doctors and poor handwriting. Her hand slides down the paper, slicing the skin open. “Ah,” she grimaces, sliding the certificate across the table.

Without a thought, Sasuke reaches over and holds her hand in his. Tracing the papercut with his fingertips, he heals the small wound. In front of them, Gaara brings the large, official stamp down onto the paper with a loud thud.

“Thank you,” Sakura says, the morning light reflected in pools of jade. Then, she tries, “Anata.”

He twines his fingers into hers, filling the gaps between her fingers with his own. “You’re welcome,” Sasuke replies, voice level, “my wife.” And it feels like coming home.

And the sunlight touches everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "the one where they get married-married." June is apparently wedding month, so I felt this was appropriate. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Some notes:  
> *These are traditional dishes served at Japanese weddings. This was basically Sasuke's way of implying they should get married-married, while they're still in Suna with a clear connection to the Kazekage.  
> *A reference to the Japanese folktale that says when a person can't sleep, it means they are awake in another person's dream.


End file.
